


next to heartbeats where you shouldn’t dare sleep

by Anonymous



Series: starkerotic's fic collection [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Break Up, Daddy Kink, Dark Tony Stark, Deepthroating, Dom/sub Undertones, Feminization, Forced Marriage, Guns, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Kidnapping, M/M, Mafia AU, Minor Character Death, Mob Boss AU, Mob Boss Tony Stark, Mpreg, Precious Peter Parker, Superior Iron Man, Underage Drinking, featuring soft peter with a burgeoning darkness, gagging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2020-04-08 12:19:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 13,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19106971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A collection of ficlets inspired by Starker mood boards and posts on Tumblr. Ratings will vary.





	1. Merger Marriage

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post](https://starkerotic.tumblr.com/post/185369262675/starker-mafiatheatre-mafia-bosstony-ballet/) on Tumblr.
> 
> Fic will just be added onto as I write more.
> 
> I'm shit at naming stuff, so I usually just throw a dart at Fall Out Boy lyrics and use whatever it hits.
> 
> Drop me a line here or at starkerotic on tumblr if you want ya girl to attempt something.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an au inspired by [this post](https://starkerotic.tumblr.com/post/185369262675/starker-mafiatheatre-mafia-bosstony-ballet/) bc i love it

*

Tony feels for the kid (and that’s what he is: a  _ kid _ ), for the look of apprehension in the honey-smooth eyes, his gaze darting nervously between Tony and the small audience they have in attendance, all of them watching intently as Tony slips the metal band, shiny and slim and beautifully elegant, on the boy’s ring finger.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and those eyes - thickly lashed and too pretty to belong to a male - flit up to Tony’s. “Don’t look so frightened; we’re supposed to be happily married, sweetheart.” The endearment is softer than the other words. Tony turns his hand in Peter’s -  _ Peter, _ the sweet-eyed, kind-hearted, gentle creature, this beautiful Omega, tied to Tony for  _ at least _ the next year, from this moment on - and twines their fingers together, his thumb smoothing slowly up and down the kid’s own. He sees, from the corner of his eye, Peter’s aunt (May, if he recalls correctly, a Beta sporting a hard chip on her shoulder with everyone but her nephew) clench her jaw, her hands tightening convulsively before she makes a noticeable effort to calm herself, fingers relaxing as her shoulders loosen, but her eyes remain tight, angry and hard as they switch between Tony and two of the men in the front row - Peter’s step-father, Obadiah, and Tony’s own father.

Howard is looking absurdly pleased with himself, a smug smile gracing his lips as he looks upon Tony and Peter; it makes Tony want to do anything and everything in his power to  _ destroy it _ , to remove it before this boy suffers whatever consequences this ‘merger’ may bring about.

He does nothing, however, too conscious of ruining any chance of the kid’s future, his livelihood, if Tony reneges now.

“-and do you, Peter Benjamin Parker, take Anthony Edward Stark as your wedded husband?” (Obadiah had scoffed when Tony demanded the archaic  _ I accept my role as my Alpha’s Omega, bound to him through eternity, his needs my own, his desires mine to fulfill _ be removed from the ceremony. “The point of an  _ Omega _ ,” the Alpha had said, Peter flinching at the disdain in the word, “is to be only what an Alpha needs.”  _ You mean the way he’s currently being a bargaining chip for you? _ Tony had started to ask, only to falter at his father’s quelling look, at the way the young Omega’s hands tightened into fists atop his thighs, nails digging bloodied crescents into his palms.)

Sunset is here, no doubt earning them a striking wedding photo, framing the two of them beneath the arch of the gazebo, the light shining at the younger man’s gorgeous eyes, a warm caramel swirled with honey. He stares into Tony’s own eyes, searching desperately for something - reassurance, Tony thinks, and so he tries his best to convey that, to tell the kid (innocent, sweet,  _ terrified _ ) that he’ll never hurt him.

Something good must show in his face because Peter takes a small breath, pink lips parting minutely on the exhale, and nods before he finds his voice.

“I do.”

*


	2. fuck them roughly, love them gently

Tony can’t catch his breath, his head bowed, forehead pressed to Peter’s back, the clear imprints of his hands a deep and blotchy crimson over his boy’s ass; they’ll surely leave beautiful bruises, dark against the pale skin, visible evidence of his boy’s  _ utter trust _ in him.

“Baby,” he pants softly,  _ reverently _ , as he pushes himself upright, withdrawing carefully from his boy’s used body, a thick trail of semen slipping out after, and Tony finds himself wishing he can get hard again, fuck back into the reddened hole, sloppy and wet and  _ perfect _ because it’s Peter. Another time, perhaps, when Tony isn’t exhausted and Peter can handle it; Tony’s put him through his paces tonight. There’s a quiet whimper, a discomforted noise, as Tony shifts to the side, swiping a gentle hand down the sweat-slick back. “You were so good, sweetheart.” He pets back the damp strands of hair from Peter’s forehead, caresses a cheek wet with tears. Peter’s brow smooths, the small frown disappearing at the gentle praise. “You took everything Daddy gave you and more. I’m so proud of you.”

Whiskey-colored eyes open, the flecks of lighter brown sprinkled in looking like drops of honey in the soft glow of the sunset through their balcony windows; Tony thinks he can look into those eyes for hours and still not get enough of them, of the trust and honesty and  _ love  _ filling them as they stare back at Tony. (Tony had been so certain, so  _ sure _ , that all of that love and trust would disappear when he showed Peter his most carnal desires, when he wanted to  _ hurt _ Peter, but… but they hadn’t, had - in fact - only  _ intensified _ , and Tony- Tony never feels more at a loss than when he sees that, when Peter finds every way to  _ show him _ .)

“I did good?” Peter’s voice is rough, scratchy with use - screams, moans, pleas - and Tony’s heart  _ hurts _ with the sheer amount of affection he feels for this beautiful boy, this precious creature who had spiraled his way into Tony’s heart the first day they’d met, Peter’s eyes wide and gorgeous as he’d repeatedly apologized for running into him, for the iced coffee on his suit.

“You did  _ so  _ well, sweetheart.” For all that Peter is more confident, has grown more comfortable in his own skin and his place in Tony’s life, he’s always vulnerable after a scene like tonight’s, his unfocused gaze showing he’s still a little lost, relying on Tony to reassure him, to make decisions for him and take care of him; it’s the most important job Tony has ever taken on, and he’s doing his best not to fail. (Luckily, his success rate at most things is  _ phenomenal _ .) “Daddy’s lucky to have such a perfect boy.” He reaches back, blindly feeling around for the cooling gel and bottle of water he’d placed on the nightstand earlier. Peter whimpers, buries his face in the sheet as Tony lightly spreads the gel, massages the burning hot skin, then sighs, soft and dreamy, as it begins to soothe. “Drink, baby.” He urges Peter to lift his head slowly tipping the water through the younger man’s parted lips until half the bottle is gone.

Peter makes a soft noise, his arm dragging slowly upward, fingers curling in as he reaches for Tony, who immediately moves closer, moves Peter’s pliant body to rest against his side, half-on Tony’s chest and half-off, doing his best to keep the overly-sensitized skin of Peter’s ass from touching anything. Peter mumbles out a hoarse, “Daddy,” and Tony presses a kiss to the crown of Peter’s head.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Love you a lot.” The words are barely there, Peter already half-asleep, but they shine like a beacon of light in the darkness for Tony, a promise of safety and home.

Fingers threading through damp curls, Tony offers another kiss, this time to Peter’s forehead, and says, soft and low, wary of breaking the silence with anything louder than the quiet half-snores from his boy, “I love you, too.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ .” Tony’s hips stutter, his breathing ragged, face buried in the curve of Peter’s neck, his teeth sinking into the fluttering pulse point, tasting sweat-slick skin as he rides out his orgasm, his entire body shuddering against the younger man’s.

His afterglow lasts only a few moments before Peter is wriggling beneath him, whining. “ _Daddy_ ,” he pants. “Give it-” Tony’s cock slips out of him on a particularly desperate roll of slim hips; Tony can picture that pretty little hole clenching helplessly on nothing, a thick line of Tony’s cum escaping, trickling out onto the rumpled sheets below, evidence of just how _thoroughly_ _owned_ by Tony Peter truly is. It’s a picture he’s come to know well over the two years he’s had the delicate beauty at his side and in his bed, more breathtaking than anything in his own art collection, in the MoMA, _anywhere_.

Tony can’t help the chuckle, though it’s a little weak as he continues trying to catch his breath. “I already gave it to you, sweetheart.” He doesn’t move, despite Peter’s continued shifting, no doubt trying to gain some friction against his own cock, trapped between his and Tony’s lower bellies.

“ _ No _ .” Tony can hear the frustration in his boy’s voice, the desperation, the  _ whine _ just waiting to be released. “No, you- You didn’t,  _ give it _ -”

Tony tuts. “Demanding things again, sweetheart?” He nuzzles his face tighter into the curve of Peter’s neck, breathing in the scents of sweat and sex and the enticing vanilla aroma that always clings to Peter from his shampoo. The boy is shaking his head, as best he can, mumbling  _ not demanding, please, please, Daddy, I love you, give it _ ; Tony simply settles himself more firmly over Peter, pinning him with most of his body weight, his forearms on either side of the younger man to avoid crushing him. Tony remains there for long moments as Peter continues to shift beneath him; finally, he goes limp and Tony can  _ hear _ the groan Peter forces himself to hold back.

It’s silent for a minute, Peter’s shaky breaths and the background noise of the movie they’d left on in the living room all that are heard, Tony resting exactly where he is, face in Peter’s neck, just breathing him in, until-

Peter flips them, Tony landing on his back with an  _ oof,  _ Peter climbing over him, perching himself comfortably atop Tony, thighs framing his, a half-smirk on his lips, even as his eyes remain unfocused, his body trembling. “ **Sorry** , old man, **were you sleeping** ?”

The words are breathy and not at all delivered with the amount of snark he thinks Peter thinks it is. “ **You’re such a bitch** ,” he says, fondness dampening the impact of the, admittedly weak, rejoinder, his palm moving to cup Peter’s soft cheek, swiping a thumb over a tear trail; his boy is so  _ sensitive _ , so easy to overstimulate. A bit of wetness slides down his thigh and his cock twitches in a valiant effort when he realizes that it’s his cum, leaking from Peter’s body.

“Am not,” denies Peter, pouting down at him.

“Mhm,” Tony hums. “Whatever you say, princess.”

Peter smiles, a delighted little thing, and turns his head to kiss the center of Tony’s palm, tongue swiping a hot path over his heart line. “Exactly, Daddy. Whatever  _ I _ say now.”


	4. Chapter 4

The boy is the loveliest creature Tony has ever seen, his delicate features so faerie-like, his slim hips swaying to the beat of the heavy bass of the song playing in the club Tony has taken as his own, his head thrown back onto the shoulder of his dance partner just behind him, lips parted, throat bared. He can’t be more than nineteen, Tony estimates, the remnants of baby fat still clinging to the boy’s cheeks, eyes wide and bright in the strobing lights.

Tony _wants_ , and he _will_ _have_ \- one way or another.

He directs a nod to his bodyguard, and Bucky lifts an eyebrow, but moves forward nonetheless, toward the beautiful boy in the center of the dance floor, a path being made for the assassin-turned-soldier-turned-personal-security. When Bucky reaches him, Tony sees the kid tilt his head at the former soldier, watches him move from his previous dance partner when Bucky quirks a finger and attempt to wrap his arms around Bucky’s neck; one hand captures both dainty wrists, presses them to a strong chest as Tony’s observes, Bucky leaning down to murmur a few words into the boy’s ear, then nodding over at Tony as he pulls back, urging the kid to walk with him to the private booth.

(Tony is  _ delighted _ at how easily the boy obeys, how trustingly he follows Bucky to Tony, no struggles or protests or screams; he’s too beautiful for Tony to bruise for disobedience - perhaps he won’t have to.)

Bucky’s hand (the flesh one, Tony notes) is still gripping one tiny wrist, so small that the Brooklyn man’s thumb and middle finger overlap just a bit. (Tony’s cock twitches at the sight, at the thought of pinning those little wrists above the boy’s head as Tony fucks into that gorgeous body hard enough to  _ break _ him.) Bucky gestures for the boy to slide into the booth, slowly releasing his grip, then steps back, just outside of their line of sight, giving the illusion of privacy.

“I’m Peter.” The boy’s -  _ Peter’s _ \- voice is soft, breathy, as lovely as the rest of him. Straight, white teeth nibble at a full bottom lip, careful enough not to ruin the rosy shade of color painted onto it, as he continues, “You’re, um- You’re Tony Stark.” It isn’t surprising in the least that the boy knows who Tony is; after all, Tony owns three quarters of the city,  _ including _ the club they’re sitting in.

Tony offers a sharp smile, taking a sip of his scotch, relishing in the burn of the liquor as it settles into his belly, warm and light. ”Smart boy,” he praises, watching a warm flush of pleasure creep over Peter’s face and -  _ oh _ . Now that the boy is close, now that the black lights and strobes and the distance are non-factors, Tony sees his eyes, honey and caramel and whiskey swirled in two pools of innocence and curiosity.

(Tony wants to  _ ruin _ that innocence, indulge that curiosity, keep him filthy and needy in Tony’s bed until he grows tired of the novelty of such a sweet thing.)

Peter, cheeks pink, looks back in the direction he and Bucky had come, a little nervously, but not as if he’s prepared to bolt away, frightened as a rabbit.

(Trusting and beautiful and possessing almost no sense of self-preservation.  _ Just Tony’s type. _ )

Taking another draft of his drink, Tony reaches out, grips Peter’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, putting his attention back on Tony  _ where it belongs _ . “Looking for your boyfriend?” he asks lightly, swirling the amber liquor in its glass.

Peter giggles, a tinkling sound heard even over the bass of the music, high and sweet. “Harry isn’t my boyfriend.”

Smile still sharp, Tony lifts an eyebrow. “A friend, then?” He allows his thumb to slip up, to nudge just under the swell of Peter’s lower lip, avoiding smudging the makeup there.

“He wanted a dance to buy me a drink,” the boy tells him, and soft eyes lined with kohl, dotted with small, pink jewels at the corners, widen just a smidgen, landing on the glass in Tony’s opposite hand.

Tony hums and the smile shifts into a smirk. “Here, sweetheart,” he says, lifting his glass, nudging it against the other’s mouth while he releases the boy’s chin. “You can have mine.” Those plump lips part (Tony imagines them opening for his cock, a rosy ring sliding down his length until the boy gags, tries to pull away until Tony forces him back down, shoving himself to the back of that warm throat, saliva dripping uncontrollably from the corners of that beautiful mouth) as Tony tips the drink back, Peter taking a too-large swallow and coughing, making Tony shift in his seat. There’s an imprint of his bottom lip on Tony’s glass that pleases Tony unreasonably.

Peter’s eyes are watering when he looks back up at Tony (and,  _ oh _ , the images that pulls to the forefront of Tony’s mind), but he’s licking his lips, sniffling as he tries to decide whether he likes the taste or not. After a few moments, he must come to the conclusion that he does because he shuffles closer to Tony on the bench seat and looks up with those eyes ( _ doe eyes _ , Tony thinks - his own personal Bambi) and asks so sweetly, “May I have some more, please?”

(Yes, Tony will have fun with this one.)


	5. same difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _same difference: used to express the speaker's belief that two or more things are essentially the same, in spite of apparent differences._

It’s a miracle that Tony is here, with Peter, smiling and warm and  _ alive _ .

Something is off, though; Tony’s smile is sharper than Peter remembers, his touch a little rougher than what Peter is used to. (Tony never hurts Peter, not really, but sometimes… sometimes, it feels like he  _ wants  _ to, and Peter doesn’t know what to do with that.) Peter is… he’s  _ missing time, _ somehow, and he’s never allowed out of the Tower, either.

_ For your safety, baby, _ Tony tells him.  _ I don’t want to lose you again. _

(Except… Peter is the one who had thought he’d lost Tony. He’d thought Tony had  _ died _ in his arms. The words make no sense to Peter.

But Tony only wants to keep him safe,  _ protect _ him, and it makes Peter feel  _ loved _ and  _ happy, _ so Peter doesn’t argue.)

*

“Do you think, maybe, Ned and MJ could come visit?” Peter wonders one night, Tony’s arm around him, Peter’s fingers tracing lightly over the scars marking Tony’s chest. ( _ Proof Tony Stark has a heart  _ comes to his mind, unbidden. He feels a sudden urge to cry, but doesn’t know why.)

Tony’s arm tightens. Peter, his head tucked into the curve of Tony’s neck, feels the older man’s jaw clench. “Why?”

Peter looks up, honey-colored eyes taking in the almost  _ snarl _ on Tony’s face. “I just-” He shifts, Tony’s arm falling from around him as Peter slides over the other man, thighs framing Tony’s hips, skin against skin, Peter’s slim hands settling against Tony’s broad chest to steady himself. “I just  _ miss _ them,” is what he says, and he sounds a little desperate to his own ears, but… it’s  _ true _ . “Ned and MJ and-”

“And so that’s it?” Tony cuts him off, slicing a hand violently through the air, close to Peter’s face. (For a moment, just one, Peter thinks Tony means to  _ hit him _ , but… Tony would never hurt him.) “You’re  _ bored  _ of me, so you want your traitor friends now?”

_ There’s something off here,  _ the little voice in the back of his mind tells him - it sounds like Tony, which is  _ confusing _ because  _ Tony is  _ **_right here_ ** _ in front of him _ . “I don’t- Traitors?”

A dark look passes over Tony’s face, handsome features contorted with  _ fury _ before he smooths them over, softens as he stares up at Peter, as his hand rises again, this time to cup Peter’s cheek gently in his palm. “They betrayed both of us, sweetheart,” he murmurs, almost  _ coos _ to him. “I lost you because of them.” Tony cups his face with both hands now, looks him directly in the eyes. “I didn’t know what I would do without you,” he says, and he sounds so  _ sincere _ and hurt, Peter feels his heart break, sharp shards falling to rest heavily in the pit of his stomach. “I had to get you back.”

Peter can’t stop the tears at the pain in Tony’s voice. (Is that why he’s really crying? He feels like he’s shedding them for something else, some _ one _ else, but as he reaches for the answer, it slips away, tendrils of it lingering at the edges of his mind, just out of reach.)

“I’m-” His voice is choked, the words strained as he tries to speak. “I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I don’t…”

Tony smiles, a little sad, somehow a little condescending. (Different, so different than what Peter remembers. How can a smile be so different on the same person?) “Of course you don’t,” he says, petting Peter’s hair back from his forehead. “You hit your head pretty hard; the doctor said you’d have a little memory loss, that I wasn’t to overload you with information too soon.” The smile turns a little sheepish, yet still… “It’s only been a few weeks,” Tony explains to him. “I should have waited, but I need you to know why you can’t see them. I  _ can’t _ risk you again.”

It’s- It makes sense.

( _ Except the part where you remember Tony dying, the parts of Tony that are similar, but so different, _ that voice reminds him, niggling the sensible part of himself, the part that feels out of place in his own life.

He forces that part of himself away.)

“I understand, Tony.”

Tony hums and urges Peter to bend down, to press their lips together in a kiss, the older man’s teeth nipping a little too harshly, splitting the center of Peter’s lip. Tony draws back, a hint of burgundy smearing his lips, the copper taste of blood slipping into Peter’s mouth. “I’m glad, baby. Daddy only wants to keep his boy safe.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Baby,” Tony murmurs, petting Peter’s hair back from his forehead. “I’ve got a meeting.” The younger man only hums and burrows further into Tony’s side, ignoring Tony’s  _ very responsible _ reminder. “Sweetheart, I’ve got to head down; Happy and I leave out in an hour.”

“Just a while longer,” comes the sleepy reply, soft and drowsy, slim arms squeezing Tony a little tighter. “You stay away so often, lately. Miss you.”

_ Guilt _ slides home abruptly, slamming into Tony’s gut and settling cozily. “I’m sorry, baby.” His voice is strained, the words rasped out over the blockage in his throat. He  _ has _ been gone quite a bit over the last three months - more than he has been in the entirety of their relationship - and they haven’t had the time together that he knows Peter craves, that  _ Tony _ has come to need as well.

Peter cuddles closer, cold nose pressing into the curve of Tony’s neck as his  _ freezing _ toes graze over Tony’s shins. (Peter’s feet are always fucking  _ arctic _ ; Tony has bought him  _ three _ electric blankets, but Peter insists on sending the older man into a mild state of hypothermia because  _ I just like being close to you, Daddy _ and fuck if Tony is capable of denying his boy anything at all, even at his own discomfort.) “’s’okay, Daddy,” the boy says around a slow yawn, warm breath fanning over Tony’s neck. “Know you’re busy.”

Tony smooths Peter’s hair, petting through the soft curls. “I should never be too busy for you.”

There’s a quiet hum of delight at his neck, the gentle vibrations pleasant against his skin. Peter lifts his head, pecking Tony’s jaw with a swift kiss, honey meeting chocolate as Peter looks into his eyes, propping himself up with a forearm on Tony’s chest, a peaceful smile on his lips. “I know you’re here when you can be; that’s enough for me.”

Something in his chest tightens and expands in turns. “Yeah, well,” he begins, an attempt at nonchalance. He cups Peter’s cheek in one big palm, his thumb gentle as it smooths over a sharp cheekbone.

“Not ‘yeah, well’,” frowns Peter. “I mean it. You have a company to run, Tony, and behind-the-scenes complications to settle out and probably a dozen other things I can’t imagine that you have to deal with.” He turns his head, presses a lingering kiss to the center of Tony’s palm. “I’m not going to demand that you just abandon all that because I don’t see you at the dinner table every night.”

A sharp pang hits next to his heart; the pain has lessened with time, but it still stings. “You wouldn’t be the first to do it, if you did, kid.” In all fairness, Pepper hadn’t demanded Tony abandon anything, not really; she’d been reasonable in her request for Tony to just  _ be present _ and love her. It was Tony’s personal failure that he hadn’t been willing to set his company aside for anyone, even a woman as loyal and kind and wonderful as Pep; he had told himself that he would never make Peter feel second-best to Stark Industries, and in less than a year of their relationship, he’s failed someone he loves, once again.

Peter’s face darkens just a bit before it turns sad, his eyes deep and clear and so  _ beautiful _ . “I’m not-” He cuts himself off, searching for the right words, his hand moving to cup Tony’s cheek in a mirror of Tony’s own position. “I don’t want you to feel like you need to do that,” he finally says, biting his lip. “I’m not going anywhere.” It’s said firmly, with such conviction, and then, with a small smirk, “I’m not so spoiled that I want all your attention, all the time, you know.”

Tony is insanely grateful that Peter has diverted the subject, played it down to something Tony can tease him about, not forcing Tony to make himself vulnerable, and he’s unable to stop the crooked grin that spreads over his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “You sure about that?” Peter’s laughter is music drifting through the air, and Tony thinks he can listen to it forever.

“Okay,” Peter beams, eyes teasing. “I’ve changed my mind.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a lil somethin i need to see _more_ of in this fandom. snap to it, peeps. ~~please.~~

Why are there not a million A/B/O fics with precious, pregnant Peter and doting, protective, utterly-in-love, Mafia Boss Tony (and everyone else)?

I’m talking Tony putting James Goddamn Barnes - the most feared and successful assassin in the _world_ , known only as _The Soldier_ to everyone not in Tony’s inner circle ( _Winter_ to Peter because _your eyes remind me of the sky in winter_ ) - on Peter’s protection detail ( _yes,_ tesoro _, you need him; there are too many people who would use you and our_ bambino _against me, and I_ won’t _have that_ ) and giving him free-reign to kill anyone who even glances Peter’s way, if The Soldier deems them a threat. ( _Daddy, you can’t tell him to kill_ everyone _who looks at me; you always say I’m pretty - maybe they just think so, too?_ ) ( _Kill them all, Soldier._ )

I’m talking Natalia Romanova - Natasha to few, _Black Widow_ to her enemies (and they are many) - tasking herself with teaching her _маленький паук_ defensive maneuvers he can use to protect his belly, should anyone ever make it through Soldier. ( _I’m gonna assume you’re saying that as a worst-case scenario, not implying that I would ever fail in keeping Boss’ Omega safe, doll._ ) ( _Call me_ doll _one more time, and I’ll give you a direct experience of that failure_ , _in front of Stark; your blood would look lovely on these shoes._ )

I’m talking Peter feeling the baby - _bambino, cosa preziosa, bellissimo regalo_ \- kick for the first time and, being so excited, he rushes to the door of the basement ( _never come down here,_ bambino _, do you understand? Tell me you understand_ ) and knocks frantically on the reinforced steel, even as he presses the intercom button Tony had installed just for him. _Daddy! Daddy, come quick!_ Bucky is leaning against the wall behind him, a soft smile on his lips as he texts Tony that everything is fine. The heavy door opens and there’s Tony - lines of blood dripping down his face, his arms, crimson soaking through expensively tailored fabric, sounds of pain and pleas behind him as the door slides shut; he looks every bit the Alpha so many fear, but there’s concern in his eyes when they flash to Soldier, as they carefully look over his Omega’s body. Peter’s smile is beautiful and bright as he takes his Alpha’s hands - hands that have hurt, have murdered, have caused so much _pain_ \- and places them over the soft swell of his belly, just under where his soft-pink crop-top sweater comes to an end, closer to his left hip than his navel, and-

The most brutal, feared, unforgiving Boss the New York Mob has known since the days of the Prohibition _lights up_ , his joy apparent in every part of him. Arms stained with blood wrap around Peter, gentle and reverent, words of praise and love filling the air as a man takes his last breath beneath their feet.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there was a prompt post with the snow and ash lines and idk

“Why is the snow black, instead of white?”

“It’s not snow,” Tony says, lips pulled into a frown, his eyes - full of wonder and despair at the same time - staring up at the flakes falling from a sky the color of blood, at the sun -  _ suns _ , Peter corrects himself; there are  _ two _ . “It’s  _ ash _ .”

He’s right; Peter holds out his hand, lets two fall onto his palm, and smears the flakes across his heart line with a fingertip, a smoky-gray residue left in its wake. “Where are we?”

Since he’s known Tony, he’s never once heard him give an uncertain answer; Tony Stark is always the smartest guy in the room, confident and sure. For the first time, Peter doesn’t hear that cockiness, that certainty that what he’s saying is  _ right _ .

“I don’t know, but…” Tony trails off, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he squints into the distance, and then his hand is wrapping around Peter’s wrist, tugging him back toward their downed ship where the others are stood at the open door, grip tight and  _ urgent _ . “Wherever we are, it doesn’t matter;  _ that _ doesn’t look good,” he says, nodding back in the direction he’d been staring a moment before.

Peter’s breath catches.

Just beneath the line of the second sun, bloody and macabre, a mist rises fast, clouds of it rolling quickly over the deadened earth, around the rotting trees.

_ “Peter!” _ Tony’s fingers are a vice around his wrist now, a thread of fear in his voice that makes Peter panic. “We have to get to the ship!”


	9. Chapter 9

“Just this once.” Tony trails the tip of a finger along Peter’s jawline, allows it to drift and trace the outline of his boy’s soft bottom lip, just shy of swiping away the lovely smearing of pink spread over his lips. ( _ Puppy Love _ , he recalls, which suits his young lover.)

“There are  _ people _ here, Daddy; it’d be  _ embarrassing _ .” Indeed, his cheeks are shaded a delicate rose, but Tony knows him; as long as Peter isn’t using Tony’s name ( _ Tony, I don’t want to do this; can we please go home? _ ) he’s only protesting for show.

(Tony does love a show.)

“ **But,** baby,” he murmurs, leaning in to nudge his nose against Peter’s. He presses a kiss to the corner of the younger man’s lips, light and chaste and leaving Peter chasing him for a proper kiss. “ **I want to hear you sing** .”

The air between them is filled with their shared breath, with the scent of Peter’s vanilla shampoo and Tony’s hint of scotch and cigarettes. Peter’s eyes - the color of a leaf at the start of autumn, of warmth and happiness and every _good_ _thing_ Tony has never had until this beautiful wisp of a boy tripped into his life - look directly into Tony’s (and deeper, further, into the depths of Tony’s _heart and soul_ because they belong to him anyway), and Tony can see the light of mischief, a hint of a shadow near the sun.

“Only if you promise to make it to my opening night.”

(And that, that is no trouble, no hardship for Tony because he has already been making plans, shifting business deals and clearing his schedule - both official and  _ unofficial _ \- to make certain he’s available to watch Peter twirl and spin and dance his way around the stage and into the hearts of an audience all at once.)

Tony offers a gentle smile (it’s one reserved only for Peter, soft and tender and affectionate) as he responds evenly, “I promise I’ll do my absolute best, sweetheart.”

Those artfully painted lips purse momentarily, but then his boy nods. “I  _ guess _ that’s good enough,” he teases before he catches Tony’s own lips in a kiss - a little sweet, a little filthy, full of  _ love _ \- and bounds away to the stage, taking the slim microphone from an amused Natasha.

He sings, and Tony is  _ breathless _ .


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a ficlet inspired by [this post](https://starkerchemistry.tumblr.com/post/183659613722/winterironspider-mood-board-only-if-your-into-the/) on tumblr bc i love it

Stark’s boy is  _ ethereal; _ there is no other word for him, the delicate beauty with the dancer’s grace and build, eyes like autumn leaves in sunlight, curls that fall artfully over his forehead before he becomes frustrated at the tickling sensation and brushes them back.

An angel in pastel sweaters and leggings, Peter Parker is the finest thing to have ever graced Bucky’s sight, his sweet smile at every word of praise to fall from Stark’s lips (and there are many of those: gentle words whispered in the boy’s ear, pressed into soft strands at his crown, murmured against the long line of that slender neck) a vision of beauty and radiance.

Stark keeps his boy away from ‘the business’, which - yes, Bucky can understand entirely. Peter is… He’s sunshine and happiness and innocence personified; to chance someone, somehow, using him against Stark, hurting the boy…

...which is where Bucky comes in.

“Daddy.” The pout is a pretty picture, Bucky admits to himself; the fact that it’s directed at the leader of the New York Mob - a man Bucky had once witnessed quite literally  _ gutting _ a man, blood streaking his arms and hands, eyes emotionless and cold as they watched the traitor gasp his last breath, crimson bubbling at his lips - and seems to have a history of  _ working _ is just priceless. “I don’t  _ need _ a bodyguard.” His voice is petulant, his expression the perfect match.

“Peter,” Stark begins, holding up a hand to stall any interruptions, “we’ve talked about this.”

“And I said that I didn’t  _ want _ anyone following me around.”

_ An angel with a bit of hellfire in him _ , Bucky thinks. He stays silent for now - his place isn’t to speak, to defend his position, no - and catalogues the interaction in the back of his mind, the way Stark leans in to place a placating hand on the small of the kid’s back, Peter  _ melting _ into the touch even as he tries to keep the air of irritation about himself.

“Sweetheart.” Stark’s voice is soft, the hand cupping the boy’s cheek gentle and reverent. “I can’t chance you getting hurt because of what I do, you understand that, don’t you?” There’s a pause, Stark waiting for Peter’s nod before he adds, “I know you think I’m being overprotective here-” A huff escapes the kid, making Bucky fight to hide the twitch of his own lips as Peter’s twist into a frown. “-but this is the reality of being associated with me, Peter. Anyone could- Anyone could connect the dots between us, if they looked closely enough.” Stark’s jaw clenches. “I won’t let that happen.” Peter’s frown is still there, his brow furrowed, a tiny dent appearing between his eyebrows before Stark continues, his tone a little lighter, teasing, trying to cajole by way of removing the seriousness of the situation. “It’ll be easier for Daddy to focus and make millions to buy you all your pretty things if he knows you’re safe.”

Bucky finally inserts himself into the conversation, bringing attention once more to his presence in the room. “That’s where I come in.”

Whiskey eyes dart to him immediately, finally taking him in - earlier, he’d no sooner heard  _ Pete, sweetheart, meet Bucky; he’s your new bodyguard _ before his adorable ire had been directed at Stark. Bucky can’t help the slowly curling tendrils of pleasure as Peter’s gaze lingers, as Stark presses his lips to the younger’s temple and murmurs something Bucky doesn’t catch, though it brings a smile (bright, gorgeous,  _ beautiful _ ) to the boy’s face.

There aren’t many things in this life with the ability to bring a man like Bucky to his knees, but that smile, the way Peter’s tongue flicks out to lick at his lower lip, glossy lip gloss shining as he tilts his head…

“Okay,” Peter says, nodding, agreeing to whatever Bucky’s boss has said. (Bucky isn’t entirely certain he  _ wants _ to know.)

And, god help him, Bucky can’t help the way his own eyes drift downward, despite  _ years _ of training himself to control subconscious actions - training obviously destined to be ruined by this little slip of a boy - and his cock twitches when he notices the kid doing the same, the words he says next pulling a groan from deep within Bucky’s gut.

_ “I like him, Daddy.” _

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a dumb thought i needed to put into the universe

I’d really like an Adjustment Bureau sort of AU.

Peter as Elise, Tony as David (as an aspiring politician or as Tony Stark: genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist), and Beck as an Adjuster.

Beck _**hates**_  Tony - the man has defied the Plans set for him Beck’s entire assignment, evading Death and prospering where he is supposed to flounder, gaining a family when he should be _alone_ and  _vulnerable_ , giving a resounding _fuck you_  to the Hands of Fate in a way no other Adjuster has ever recorded a human accomplishing; the Adjusters around him and _The Chairman himself_  have begun questioning him, his ability to keep The Plan (for Stark, for others, for _the universe_ ) in check, and now-

 _Now_ , this boy, Peter Parker, has landed in Tony Stark’s life, perfect and beautiful and kind,  _nothing that Tony Stark has ever deserved_ , and another wrench in The Plan.

Beck will not stand for it.

An invisible _push_  here during a performance, no one to catch him, and Peter’s slender little ankle is broken; Beck feels a bit badly about it - the boy has such a promising career ( _had_ , anyway) - but Stark will surely abandon the boy now because Stark enjoys pretty things, yes, but _broken_  toys? The Modified Stark Plan will be back on track.

(Except Stark stays with the boy throughout the ambulance ride, insists on the best medical care, _pays for the surgery_ ; Peter can dance again - never again professionally, but Stark attends all of Peter’s classes as he teaches children, applauds at the end of each as though the boy has just completed the performance of a lifetime on stage.)

 _It’s okay,_ Beck tells himself. _One more push, just one… and Stark will finally get what’s coming to him: heartbreak and hurt and his world crashing down around him._ Because Stark - he seems to _love_  the kid, touches affectionate and words gentle and eyes soft.

_Kill the boy and the Plan will back on the salvaged tracks._

_Kill the boy._

It’s a manic thought - it all is now - but Beck knows what must be done.

The only problem?

Stark, by some fluke of the Fates, has seen him - has _found his Book_  and has figured out that the little accidents that have been happening around Peter, each _so close_ to being the one Beck needs, are not accidents.

(The Plan is compromised.)


	12. Chapter 12

consider this: mafia boss tony and _seemingly_ innocent student peter who mentions, vaguely, one night that someone on campus has been giving him a hard time; two weeks later, they’ve disappeared - and peter is sure he saw their jacket in the den when he came down for breakfast a few days before…

another time, a woman nearly hits him with her car as he crosses the street, screams at him and humiliates him in public, like it’s his fault, despite him being in the crosswalk; he goes home, eyes red, and admits to tony what happened when he’s asked and-

the woman is on the news the very next morning, dead in a car accident, having run a red light. there are a lot of instances like these; peter doesn’t think about it too hard.

(he does tell tony about the only student ahead of him at nyu, though; that person ends up overdosing the next month, traces of a particular mixture of ecstasy and cocaine in their bloodstream - the same mixture peter knows tony’s chemists enjoy for themselves when tony’s feeling in a generous mood. there’s an empty seat - two of them - for the dead students in peter’s class at graduation; peter laments the loss of young lives in his speech, though he almost can’t stop the twitch of his lips as he stares directly at tony throughout. he beams as he accepts his diploma, as his honors and achievements are touted on the loudspeaker, tony’s cheers the loudest of all.)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> answers from an ask meme where i can't stfu

##  **_19\. what do they fight about? what are their arguments like? how do they make up?_ **

they have a few little disagreements, here and there, all solved quickly with soft apologies and quiet affirmations of love, but their biggest _fight_  was-

“peter, they’ll eat you alive. i’m not putting you through that.” tony scrubs his hands through his hair, the gray-streaked strands standing on end, messy in a way that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.

“i’m good enough for you to _fuck_ ,” peter shouts back, deliberately choosing the crudest word to toss at tony, tears shining in his eyes, face burning with anger and humiliation and _hurt_ , “good enough for you to move into your home, good enough for you to claim to love - but not good enough to tell anyone about.” he huffs out a bitter laugh, rubs the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“that’s  _not_ -” tony collapses onto the edge of the bed, rests his elbows atop his knees, puts his face in his hands. he can’t find the words, can’t _think_ \- peter is so  _young_ , barely 21; he’s a _genius_ , he is, but he can’t understand what he’s asking for, not with this. “baby,” he sighs, tone defeated.

“don’t _call_  me that, not- not right now.” peter’s voice breaks, and tony looks up, sees the boy’s lip trembling, his eyes red-rimmed. “i’m not a child,” he says firmly. “i’m so _sick_  of everyone treating me like i don’t know what i want or- or like i can’t handle anything.” tony opens his mouth, but peter continues. “all i want is for you to- to _tell_  people… to take me out to dinner or a movie or to one of the benefits you’re supposed to attend, _as your date_ , but you just-” his voice cracks again. “you just keep me as your dirty little secret.”

tony stands, abrupt and panicked. “peter, _sweetheart_ , christ, no. that’s not- that’s not what i’m doing, that’s not what you  _are_. i’m trying to-”

 _to keep you safe, to keep the press from calling you all the things you aren’t, the things you could never be. i’m trying to keep you **safe** , so_ iron man’s _enemies can’t use you, so you won’t be hurt because of me._

and maybe that’s selfish, _maybe_ , but peter is- peter is only human, only a college student, all pastel pinks and yellows and leggings and ballet slippers and lip gloss and too-soft curls that smell of vanilla, and tony _loves him so much_. he can’t chance it.

“i’m going to may’s.”

it’s so quiet, tony almost doesn’t catch it, but he _does_  and he feels his heart pounding hard against his ribcage, his lungs struggling to take in air. he croaks out a weak sound, peter’s name hidden inside it, and fights against the lead in his feet to take a step toward the younger man. “don’t,” he pleads. “pete- don’t go.”

peter’s back is to him now, his hand on the doorknob, but he turns back around, his expression pained as he sees tony’s, notices the hand reaching out to him. “i’m not… i’m not leaving,” he explains. “i just need a night - a few nights - away, to _think_.”

it hurts, watching peter leave, not knowing when - or if - he’ll return, seeing the door close behind him. it hurts, and tony tries to call out for him, plead for him to _stay_.

but tony can’t find his voice and peter doesn’t look back.

##  **_40. Any special memories? Do they have a special place they like to go to?_ **

their favorite place to _just be_  is atop stark tower, on the helipad, their legs hanging off the edge as they lie back, peter tucked beneath tony’s arm, warm against his side, his head resting on a strong shoulder that has known the weight of the universe.

(tony has traveled through wormholes and planets and _entire_ _galaxies_ , but nothing he has seen in any of those, experienced, compares to the beauty of peter’s eyes lit with starlight.)

it’s a rare night for manhattan, a smattering of stars lighting the sky like splatters of white paint on black canvas. peter loves coming to the helipad on nights like this, begs tony to shut off as many lights as possible so he can more clearly see the stars. and denying peter things has become an incapability, honestly, so tony always obliges him.

on a frosty night in december, peter tucked into layers of warmth and tony’s favorite leather jacket, witnessed by the light of the moon and the stars and the galaxies beyond, tony asks peter to marry him.


	14. Chapter 14

"The only thing," Tony begins, letting his voice break before he continues, the little angel's eyes big and beautiful and _so sad_  as they stare up at him. "The only thing I was guilty of was choosing my family above- above _them_!" He waves his hand in the direction of the group of humans in the alleyway in front of them, a pair of teenagers passing money to a grungy man with a backpack, two small baggies appearing in his hands as swiftly as the money disappears.

The angel is looking at the young boys, heartbreak clear in his face.

"You see, angel?" murmurs Tony. "Do you see how _unworthy_  they are of Father, of his love, unconditional and all-encompassing?"

Gorgeous wings - the purest white with flecks the hue of the sky in early daylight speckled throughout, the colors of innocence and beauty; Tony wants to _own_  them, wants to keep this little being to himself as both a prize and a _fuck you_  to the Big Guy - twitch abruptly, shuddering as the humans begin shouting, anger and panic washing over Tony who _revels_  in the emotional turmoil and Peter who-

Tears fill the other's eyes, a beautiful glaze over honey and caramel.

Tony lifts his hand, cups one cheek in his palm, his thumb swiping away an escaping trail of saltwater, smearing it over the little angel's cheekbone. "Is it truly so terrible, what I did, sweetheart?" He keeps his voice low as the humans' voices rise, their ire easily palpable for beings like Tony, like the precious little gift in front of him. "All I ever wanted was a father who loved me just as much as he favors these imperfect creatures." Peter's lip is trembling, the sounds of bare knuckles hitting flesh and pained curses echoing in the otherwise silent night. _That's it._  "Don't I deserve to be loved, Peter?" he asks, barely hiding the smirk behind his oh-so-heartbroken plea for understanding.

Bitten-red lips part in a sob as Peter falls forward into Tony, into his arms, a scream rending the air as a knife flashes in the light of a streetlamp in the grip of one of the teens, slides between the ribs of the dealer. _Pain_  fills the air, sweet and invigorating as Tony breathes it in, and one feather, two - the gorgeous blues fade in them, the white turning, and _oh_ , is it beautiful, the sign of failing faith in their Father.

(Soon, they will blacken, dark as a raven's - and Tony Stark, God's favorite son once-upon-a-time, will claim another as his own.)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a prompt: things you said through your teeth

“I don’t understand the problem,” Tony says, voice desperate, heart beating hard against his rib cage. “This was everything you wanted and-”

“I _never_ wanted this!” Peter’s jaw is clenched, the words ground out between his teeth, and his eyes - beautiful, warm caramel drizzled with droplets of honey and sunlight - are wet, another hard punch to the gut for Tony. “This is what _you_ wanted! It’s _always_ been what you wanted and- and I wanted it for you, I _did_ , but it was never _my_ dream.” His voice is shaking and his lips trembling, though no tears fall; his boy is always so strong, even when he’s breaking.

Silence fills the room, the only sound the rhythmic sway of the pendulum inside the antique grandfather clock Peter had taken one look at and fallen in love, though he’d not said a word; it had been his birthday present from Tony, two years ago, and seeing Peter’s smile, wide and perfect and full of love, had made the dollar amount a meaningless afterthought.

(That had been Before: before Tony’s company had taken off, before the long days and late nights and forgotten dates and broken promises, all in the name of business. Tony can’t count the number of nights he’s slept at the office, Peter’s texts asking when he’s coming home - to bed, to _him_ \- left unread as he works through the hours, determined to stay on top of his game, to keep _Stark_ _Industries_ at the top, refusing to slow down and chance once again living paycheck-to-paycheck, never able to give Peter what he deserves. Tony longs for the days of _Before_.)

“Baby,” rasps Tony. “Peter, please. I’m sorry; I’ll make it all up to you, I swear. We can- We can go wherever you want - anywhere in the world. We can stay here, and I’ll cancel everything, I-”

Peter shakes his head, a sad smile on his face. “That’s not-” He laughs once, a strangled sound, and swipes a hand across his eyes. “That’s not what I want, Tony.”

Breathing has never been so difficult. “Then what is it? What can I do? I’ll do anything, Petey.”

Peter’s fingers - slim and delicate, always hiding surprising strength - tighten on the strap of the duffel draped over his left shoulder. “You can’t- you can’t _do_ anything, Tony,” he replies, and the way he says it tears at Tony: like he doesn’t believe Tony will do whatever it takes, give up _everything_ , if only Peter would put down the bag and walk into Tony’s arms and _stay_. “I don’t want you to sacrifice anything for me.”

_I’d give you the stars, the sky, the moon; a billion-dollar company means nothing, not compared to you, not **without** you._

Peter moves, steps toward the door, and - for a moment, just a moment - Tony thinks _this is it, he’s leaving, he’s gone, he’s not looking back,_ but then the other man hesitates, hand on the doorknob, and turns back, biting his lip, looking uncertain and so, so sad.

(Tony feels no sadness, only hurt and loss and an indescribable _fury_ at himself.)

“I know,” begins Peter, and he falters, his brow furrowing. “I know that- that you wanted this - all of this,” he clarifies, gesturing around the penthouse, the home in the sky that Tony has dreamt of giving Peter since their first kiss at homecoming, Tony’s junior year, years of happiness and laughter and love filling his visions for the future - _their_ future. “I know you wanted the company and the money and the _everything_ to make sure that we were okay, that we never have to worry about missing next month’s rent or not having enough change for the laundromat at three in the morning. I wanted that, too, because you- I knew that you could do it, that you could change the world with your ideas, and you _have_.” Peter’s smile is heartbreaking, his words holding no malice, only pride. “It was your dream, but mine was just… My dream was _you_ ; not the money or the penthouse or the red carpets - just _Tony_.”

“I’m still here,” Tony protests weakly. “I’m _still here_ , Pete.” He makes an aborted move to touch, his arm half-raised before his brain takes notice. “Please, baby. Please don’t leave.” _None of this means anything without you._

A blink, and Peter is in front of him, the duffel thumping down to the hardwood floor as he cups Tony’s face in his hands, watery eyes meeting Tony’s. “You- you’re _not here_ ,” Peter tells him, and it _hurts_. “And I understand, I _do_ , but I’m… I go to bed alone, and I wake up the same. Your company needs you, Tony, and I’m not angry about that, I promise.”

“Our company,” Tony tells him. He touches his forehead to Peter’s, closes his eyes; the insides of his eyelids burn. “Everything- everything of mine is yours, Petey.” _My heart has always been._

Peter’s breath - mint and chocolate - fills his nose, the soft laugh sounding _so_ _tired_. “I love you. Always,” he vows, and _hope_ fills Tony’s chest for a fleeting moment. “But I…” When Tony opens his eyes, he sees the tears finally falling from Peter’s. “I want you to do what you need to - with _Stark Industries_ , with the fame, with your inventions and your brilliance and- I want you to do that and when it’s done, when you don’t feel like you need to lock yourself away in your lab or your office to keep ahead of the world, if you- If you still want me, I’ll be there, I promise, but I… I can’t be in love by myself, Tony.”

His heart is still racing, so fast that it must be shattering against his bones, shards of it falling to lay heavy in the pit of his stomach.

“I love you,” is all he can force himself to say. “I love you.” Nothing has ever been so true.

Peter’s eyes squeeze tightly shut, tears lining his lashes. “I know you do. I know.” His thumbs slide along Tony’s jaw, gentle and slow. “I just- This isn’t forever, okay?” Tony nods, his eyes shutting once more, the burning behind his lids returning. “Not if you don’t want it to be.”

“I don’t want you to go at all.”

“I’m sorry.” From anyone else, Tony wouldn’t believe it, but Peter - his sweet Peter - has never enjoyed hurting anyone, has never lied to him. “I’m so sorry, but I- I can’t-”

Words must fail him because Tony hears his breath hitch, and the sound cuts through him like a knife, sharp and cold and unforgiving. _You’re the reason he’s hurting._

Peter’s nose nudges against his and, for a split second, Tony thinks he’s going to kiss him, but-

Peter’s hands - warm and gentle and soft - drop from his face as the younger man steps back, bends down to pick up the duffel bag, and walks away, through the door; as it shuts, the last bit of Tony’s heart finally falls.

*

_(“Some day,” the dark-haired boy vows to the doe-eyed beauty, “I’ll give you a house in the clouds. I’ll find a way, baby, and I’ll set us for life.” The stars are visible above them, beams of moonlight shining through the limbs and the leaves of the tree Tony is resting against, Peter’s back to his front, the ground cold below them. “You’ll never have to worry about anything, Petey, I promise.”_

_Peter hums softly, the gentle curve of a smile illuminated by the light of the moon as Tony looks at him, presses a kiss to his temple._

_“What about you, baby? What do you want?”_

_That smile remains, the most beautiful thing Tony thinks he will ever see, even if he lives for the next one hundred years._

_“You,” Peter murmurs. “Just you.”)_


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I busted into the discord today and the first thing I saw was _what if Omega Peter is assaulted and gets pregnant? And Tony offers to take care of them both?_ And then I saw _but what if he was the one who did it?_ And here we are.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: implied rape, pre-fic, that resulted in pregnancy

Peter is crying, and it beats at that bit left of Tony’s heart, but he’ll take care of the Omega now - _his_ Omega, _his_ pup growing in the sweet boy’s womb.

“I didn’t- I didn’t want- and now…” Peter’s sobs are shaking his entire body. There’s a gentle swell to his middle now, just enough to mark the existence of the tiny life nestling inside.

 _His_. They both belong to _him_.

“Pete,” murmurs Tony, tamping down the excitement in his voice. This is it. This is exactly what he’d wanted, what he’d known would happen: Peter trusts Tony Stark so much, beyond anyone; it’s only natural he would come to Tony for this. It’s a dark sort of pleasure, twisting and curling and twining its way around his cold heart, settling in his gut; there’s that small ounce of regret that he’s made such a pretty Omega shed tears twice now, but… Pain is a necessity, sometimes. “Peter, sweetheart,” he coos, soft and low, an Alpha comforting his Omega. “Don’t cry.” He lifts his hand, swipes a trail of tears from the younger’s cheek. Leaning in, Tony presses his forehead to Peter’s, cups his face in his hands. “I’ll take care of you and the pup, Petey. Just you and me and ours.”

Peter’s cries had quieted when Tony began speaking, though he is still sniffling, his eyes shining bright with the remaining tears and hurt and despair. “You- But I-”

Tony shushes him. “Don’t worry about anything, darling,” he instructs, a bit of Alpha in his voice. “An Omega, pregnant, without an Alpha to care for them and the child? Neither of you would stand a chance in the world we live in.” It’s said in a matter-of-fact tone, no room for Peter to raise disbelief. He continues, cajoling, “We can be a family, little Omega, the three of us.” They are anyway, whether the boy ever figures out that _he_ is the reason this is happening or not. “I’ll take care of us.”

The darling thing has cried himself out now and, cradled in Tony’s arms, begins to drift, mumbling, “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” in that floaty voice of the near-unconscious.

Tony settles him on the bed - _his_ bed now - and rises to make his way to the bathroom, staring into the mirror for a few moments, brown eyes pleased and dark. He allows himself to smile now and reaches up, carefully removing the colored lenses from his eyes, his own unnatural and icy-blue peering back at him.

 _So easy to take a man’s entire world here_ , he muses, glancing back through the doorway at the small Omega, curled beneath the comforter, his arms crossed protectively over the soft roundness of their child. _So easy._


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a concept: gun kink and mafia boss tony

Mafia Boss Tony Stark sees what he likes and he _takes_ \- and he likes the pretty thing walking home from the NYU campus, the arms of his pink hoodie tied around his waist, backpack looking heavier than he would be soaking wet. Naturally, he takes, sends James to follow the kid home, confident - as he should be.

The kid is terrified of him and that - _oh_ , that… it gives him a thrill when anyone is frightened of him, of his power, but seeing those pretty eyes shine with tears, pink lips trembling with the effort to hold back his sobs? _Fuck._

It’s only an intimidation move at first (not that he needs it) when he pulls out his gun, presses the end of the barrel to those lovely lips, but he didn’t account for how _erotic_ the sight would be, his cock hard, his heart beating fast - and when the boy opens his mouth, just drops his jaw as if prepared to _suck_? The clip is empty, barrel clear when he pulls the trigger, and the sob it wrenches from the boy is-

It’s the first time Tony has come untouched since he was a teenager, but it won’t be the last.


	18. Chapter 18

peter is _fascinated_ by bucky’s arm to begin with, which is natural: he’s interested in science, in bionics and the like, asks constant questions about sensors and feeling.

after thanos, after tony nearly dies and the only things that save him are the nanotechnology and peter, after he loses his arm and gains more scar real estate than he cares to think of, peter gets even more interested, working with t’challa and shuri to create an arm just like bucky’s new one, all the same receptors and sensors, only in red and gold because peter is nothing if not accommodating to tony’s eccentricities.

and then? seeing the two of them, just there, together, metal glinting beautifully in the darkness, against each other’s skin, peter _wants_ and he _asks_ because tony and bucky have made it clear that he need only ask for anything he desires and they will give it to him.

the vibranium is cool to the touch, making peter shiver and goosebumps rise, but the heat of bucky’s lips and tongue and tony’s flesh hand soothe the cold like a mug of hot chocolate on a winter night. tony is still so skittish about his scars, about the arm - peter takes every opportunity to offer worship to him, to the scar tissue and the prosthetic, but it will take _time_ , peter knows, and he can be patient while tony acclimates, accepts and becomes comfortable with the changes - so he slips behind peter, his flesh hand on peter’s hip, the metal fingers sliding toward peter’s front to twist at a pebbles nipple, making peter _hiss_.

bucky is in front of him, his lips on peter’s, and his metal hand trailing up the center of peter’s body, and then they’re circling peter’s neck, _squeezing_ , just the lightest bit, enough to skyrocket peter’s pulse through the roof, and _fuck_ , peter hadn’t known, hadn’t thought that he might enjoy something like this, but-

bucky doesn’t linger, though, not at his throat. (peter knows that he is still a bit skittish, too, decades of inflicting pain and committing murder, not having to concern himself with holding back his strength because hydra made certain he would do only as they please, all of it making him wary of touching the people he cares for with the arm - the _weapon_.) he slides his hand again, fingers moving to tap lightly against peter’s lips when they reach. “open up, darlin’,” he murmurs, cutting through the silence of the room, previously broken only by harsh pants and stuttered whimpers. peter obeys, easy and loose, leaning into tony’s body behind him.

tony wraps his flesh arm around peter’s chest, his own rumbling against peter’s back as he hums. “sweet thing,” he whispers against peter’s ear. “always so good for us,” he adds, and peter _keens_.

cold metal brushes his lips, tracing, and peter can’t help himself, darts his tongue out to lick at them. a warm curl of pleasure rises as bucky’s eyes flash with desire.

“ _suck_ ,” bucky commands, rough and low, a _growl_ more than anything; peter’s cock twitches, his heart beats faster, saliva pooling, and he’s helpless to do anything but what bucky orders, closing his lips around the smooth metal joints of the soldier’s first three fingers.

tony’s lips and teeth and tongue play at the side of peter’s neck, sucking bruises into the pale skin, nipping gently. his hand, cool and unyielding, moves from peter’s chest, slips down, down, and peter bucks his hips, his entire body jerking between the two men, his whine muffled by the fingers in his mouth as the fingers at his cock wrap around fevered flesh.

_“such a good boy.”_


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes i lurk in discord until inspiration for ridiculous ficlets strikes

Tony has never been a sound sleeper, never been able to sleep through storms or the sounds of the TV or the general noise of the outside world without some form of alcohol involved, but over the last four months - ever since Peter's first pregnancy test showed  _ two _ faint pink lines, the second a clear and bold  _ pregnant _ in all caps, Peter's smile brighter than the sunbeams shining in Tony's eyes, more beautiful than all the stars and the moon - he's been much more attuned to all movements from Peter, whether a small twitch as he sleeps, a vivid dream lighting the other man's rest, or a swift move to roll out of bed in a bid to race to the  _ en suite _ , nausea returning.

It's one of the latter nights, Peter struggling to get comfortable as best he can, apologizing to Tony for disturbing his sleep every half-hour.

"I just- It won't  _ stop _ ," Peter tells him, tears shining in his gorgeous whiskey-smooth eyes.

(The mood swings, the abrupt shifts from exuberant to distraught, sweet to tight-lipped, are  _ baffling _ to Tony; Peter always feels terrible for them afterward, but Tony soothes him, murmurs in his husband's ear how he'll accept any undue tantrums, all the tears Peter can hold, as long as he can have  _ this _ : Peter in his arms, their child nestled safely between them.)

Tony's exhaustion is clear in the way he can only just hold his eyes open, enough to see Peter's face illuminated in the slivers of ghostly moonlight sneaking through the balcony doors Peter has taken to insisting remain open at night. "Don't sweat it, baby cakes," he responds, only half-aware he's even done so. "Don't cry." Wrapping his arm around Peter's middle, swollen and full with their baby (and,  _ god _ , if that thought doesn't do something to Tony every time it crosses his mind - if only his body were awake enough to  _ do _ something about it), he tugs Peter back down, tucks him back against his front, spooning him, burying his nose in Peter's nape, inhaling the familiar scents of vanilla and honey and  _ Peter _ .

"The doctor said that the morning sickness doesn't go on after the first trimester." Peter sniffs, a light sob catching his breath. Tony's chest tightens (hormonal causation or not, he'll never be able to be okay with Peter's cries). "They said it would be  _ gone _ by now, so why isn't it?" He curls in on himself as much as possible, pressing himself back tightly to Tony. "What if there's something  _ wrong _ -"

"Pete." It's best to stop him now, Tony knows, before the other man sends himself into a panic, blood pressure rising - Bruce has already warned Tony not to let Peter upset himself so thoroughly, and Tony intends to do his best to calm him whenever necessary. "Sweetheart, they said that it varies," he reminds Peter, pressing a kiss to the boy's skin, dotted lightly with perspiration. "Some people have morning sickness all throughout their pregnancy, isn't that what they said?" He waits for Peter's nod, hesitant and shaky. "See? It's just proof that our  _ bambino _ is here-" He places his hand gently over the swell of Peter's baby bump, thumb stroking slowly over the heated skin. "-and making itself known."

"But-"

"No 'but'," interrupts the older man. He shifts, pulls Peter in tighter to him, his right leg sliding between both of Peter's. Stifling a yawn, he mumbles, "Try to get some sleep, doll, hm?" There's no reply, except a quiet sniffle, barely audible.

Tony closes his eyes.

*

It seems like hardly a minute has gone by before Tony is awoken again, except this time it's by tiny hands shaking him, his shoulder, and a panicked voice.

"Tony! Tony, wake up, hurry!"

_ Panic, _ he wonders,  _ or... excitement? _ Tony gives himself no time to process, though, to  _ think _ , eyes immediately flying open, adjusting to the near-darkness, a handful of seconds too long. "What's wrong? FRIDAY, lights on!"

His girl says nothing, the bedside lamps flashing on within a heartbeat, dim enough so as not to blind, but well-lit enough to allow Tony the opportunity to look Peter over, eyes darting frantically, trying to find something, anything, wrong.

"Peter," he says, a little desperate. "Petey, baby, what is it? What's-"

Peter's hand, small and soft and smelling of the chocolate icing he'd delved into earlier in the night (straight out of the container, much to Tony's amusement), closes over his mouth, and he says, his eyes bright again, except with something akin to  _ joy _ . " _ Tony _ ," he breathes.

Tony's heart is beating wildly, hard and unforgiving. "Peter," he rasps out. "Peter, what is it?" His voice is muffled by Peter's hand, his goatee probably tickling the sensitive skin of his husband's palm, given the way it twitches against his lips. "Peter?" he questions again.

Peter is smiling now, which calms Tony somewhat, but he's still trying to find what may have concerned Peter enough to wake Tony so frantically when the younger man lets his hand drop, falling to rest atop Tony's right one, gripping it lightly and lifting. "What-" Peter guides it to his stomach, just to the left of his navel. Tony's brow furrows, tongue flicking out to lick anxiously at his lips, about to ask again  _ what's wrong? _ when-

There's a soft flutter against his palm.

"Did you feel it?" Peter's voice is thick, like he's going to cry, but when Tony glances up at his face, his eyes are clear, his smile blinding. "Did you?"

Another flutter, a roll of movement against his hand, and it finally  _ clicks _ . "They're  _ moving _ ," he murmurs, an indescribable feeling filling him, wrapping around his heart tightly enough to steal his breath. Another roll, more forceful this time - like a kick.

Peter  _ is _ crying now, but it's through laughter, happiness radiating from his every pore. "She's  _ moving _ ," he confirms, wiping away tears with the hand not pressing Tony's to his stomach - to  _ their child _ and the undeniable proof of its life.

"'She', huh?" is all Tony can say through the lump settled in his throat.

His husband - his beautiful, perfect, father-to-be,  _ Peter _ \- leans in, pressing their foreheads together, his eyes a warm spiced rum in the low amber light. "She," he confirms, a soft smile on his lips. "I know it." His hand finally drops from Tony's, rises with the other to cup the older man's face, their lips meeting, soft and slow.   
  



	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober is too much for me to take on rn, so this is one of the things i wrote before i realized that, haha

“That’s it, sweetheart,” murmurs Tony, stroking a gentle hand along the side of Peter’s face, thumbing at the corner of his boy’s mouth, stretched wide and obscene around Tony’s cock, swiping through the thick, slimy trails of saliva coating the lower half of his face. “You’re doing so well.”

Peter stares up at him, breathing quick and shallow through his nose, trying to use the moment of reprieve to gather as much air as possible before his throat is blocked once more. He’s looking at Tony, his eyes wide and filled with tears and so goddamn  _ beautiful _ , Tony wants to take a photo, a video, immortalize this moment and Peter’s expression. (He’d learned his lesson about that, though, years before, young and dumb and full of- Well. The point is that he’ll never risk that, not now, not with  _ Peter _ .)

“Let’s try again, yeah?” Peter releases a strangled sort of noise, half-whine-half-whimper, that sends gentle vibrations along the length of his cock. “Just relax, baby,” Tony instructs softly, thumbing away an escaped tear from the corner of one eye. “There we go, just tip your head back again, just like that.” His head trapped between the edge of the bed and Tony’s cock, Peter has no easy escape route. (Theoretically, at least; Peter had asked for it this way, to make himself feel like the only option is to take Tony’s cock the way it’s given to him, no room to pull away when the tip grazes the back of his throat, when his gag reflex activates and he wants to pull off. It’s a heady sort of feeling, having this beautiful boy -  _ not a boy anymore, _ that little voice in his mind pipes up.  _ He’s gone through MIT, lived a decade of life as a beloved city superhero in danger and excitement; he’s a man now _ \- at his feet, at his mercy; it’s been half a year, and Tony still isn’t certain how he got so lucky, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.)

Tony draws back until only the flared head of his cock is still inside Peter’s mouth, the boy’s lips parted so that it rests heavily on his tongue - a  _ filthy _ , pornographic sight if the older man has ever seen one.

“Keep your head there, sweetheart, open your throat for me, and  _ relax _ .”

Slowly, Tony presses forward once more, the move smooth and easy with the excess saliva, Peter’s breaths short and shallow until Tony’s cockhead presses against his soft palate, then  _ keeps going _ . His boy’s eyes are wide with both the panic one feels at having their airway closed off, the threat of suffocation close to home, and arousal, pupils blown. He makes a wet sound around Tony’s dick, a gargle of protest as he tries to turn his head, but Tony cards his fingers through soft curls and  _ twists _ .

“Ah-ah,” he tuts, and it would have more weight if he weren’t panting, struggling to keep his voice even, but  _ Christ _ , the flutter of Peter’s tight throat around the head of his cock as he fights for air is fucking _ glorious _ . He begins a countdown.

“Three.”

Peter  _ swallows _ , a compulsive reaction, spit pooling in his mouth and sliding down his chin when he drops his jaw, suction around Tony’s erection disappearing as Peter attempts to shift his head once again; Tony foils him easily.

“Two.”

The sound of someone gagging has never been a turn-on for him, not even when it was  _ his cock _ they were gagging on, but Peter seems to be the exception to every rule; his hands, callused from years of lab work and swinging around all of New York - and Cambridge, a few times, though Tony put a hard stop to that when an article speculating the correlation between New York transfers and Spider Man in Massachusetts became the topic of the hour one Sunday morning; honestly, it’s a goddamn miracle the kid hadn’t been exposed long before Peter had decided to be open about his dual identity - are pressing against Tony’s thighs, pushing, but there are no hints of real force behind the pressure.

“One.”

Peter gasps, a fish out of water, the moment Tony lets up, allows him to pull off and gather breath.

“Good boy,” Tony breathes out, releasing the tangled curls, petting lightly in reward. Peter coughs, looks up at him like he’s hung the moon, and Tony is  _ just _ narcissistic enough that it puts him right on the edge of cumming. “You did so well, baby,” he says again, leans down to press his lips to Peter’s forehead, slides his hands around to slip through the thick saliva and drags them up, spreading the mess further up and over Peter’s cheeks. He straightens, strokes his hand over his slick cock, and brushes his wet palm a second time over Peter’s unruly curls.

“Now, let’s try for five.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_warnings: minor character death (non-descriptive); mob boss tony; featuring soft peter with a burgeoning darkness._ **

It’s a striking contrast: the sleek black and hard edges of the unforgiving steel against the smooth, creamy skin of inner thighs Tony knows for a fact are softer than the down feathers that fill his pillows. Peter’s fingers - slender, manicured, gentle - look so _small_ , wrapped around the grip, resting down along the slide.

The sight sends a note of dark excitement _singing_ through him.

The dark crimson, the blood pooling and creeping slowly across the hardwood floor toward his boy’s delicate, bare feet, however...

The body is afforded no attention; that is all for Peter. (Tony will concern himself with it later, the man’s identity; someone breaking into Tony Stark’s home like this, to go for his boy on a night Tony was meant to be meeting with a rival leader... Only _his_  men knew that Peter would be here; he _will_  weed out the weasel, the wannabe-wolf in his flock. The two behind him - the men _who_ _let this asshole get so close to Peter_  - they will pay their dues afterward, tears and blood dripping on concrete, a macabre painting of repentance.) As he kneels down in front of Peter, between those delectable thighs, and blocks his view of the cooling corpse, eyes the color of aged whiskey peek from beneath eyelashes that cast spider leg-like shadows over high cheekbones.

“I did it,” his precious boy rasps out. His eyes are dry, not red-rimmed like Tony had feared they would be - only strength reflects in them, no taint of _fear_  or _regret._  “Just like you taught me.”

An indescribable feeling, akin to _pride,_  unfurls in Tony’s chest. He lifts a hand to the line of Peter’s jaw, thumb smoothing just below the soft swell of his lower lip.

“You did,” he murmurs, leans in to press a gentle kiss between Peter’s brows. Another kiss lands at the corner of the boy’s mouth. “Now I can show you how to clean up after yourself.”

The gun is warm from Peter’s grip as it’s placed in Tony’s free hand.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a resolution to part of chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**anonymous asked:** _
> 
> _your answer about them fighting, and peter leaves. Does Tony just assume this is it, Peter had too much? Does he go overboard to try and reverse the damage?? I just love your writing and i need more pls_

i picture tony just shutting down for the next few days, locking himself away with his suits and his robot children, trying to keep his mind away from the thought of _this is it, he’s gone, you fucked up_ because he’s a dramatique boi™️ with self-worth issues his father never bothered to tend to. ~~fuck you very much, russo brothers, i hate you and your erasure of howard’s shitty and abusive parenting.~~

meanwhile, peter is on the couch with may, guilt a tight knot in his throat as may’s soft hands brush through his hair.

“it’s not _wrong_ to want that, is it?” peter asks, eyes burning. “it’s not wrong to want him to love me in public, is it?”

“oh, sweetheart,” may murmurs and kisses the top of his head. “of course it isn’t.” she hugs him tight, hums a few bars of an old lullaby she and ben used to sing to him, off-key and comforting. she holds him close after and says, softly, “it’s not wrong to want that, but… would anything _really_ be any different, if you had it?” peter looks up at her, and she shakes her head. “aside from the reporters following you, your name and your face being in the tabloids next to his, the world knowing what you are to him… what would be different? would tony love you any more? any less?”

happy picks him up at three in the morning, a look in his eyes that has peter ducking his head. he tells peter, “he does love you, you know,” and opens the door. “he comes with a lot of emotional baggage. you just gotta learn how to carry it with him, instead of throwing more duffel bags on top.”

jarvis is silent when they arrive, but the elevator takes him directly to the penthouse, and he knows the ai will let tony know he’s here.

when tony steps into the bedroom, peter wants to cry; tony looks like he hasn’t slept in the three days peter has been away, probably hasn’t showered or eaten more than the energy bars peter knows dum-e grabs from the stash peter had put in the lab for the robot to force on tony when necessary.

“pete.” his voice is rough, like he hasn’t spoken in as long as he hasn’t slept, and he sounds… _defeated_. “i didn’t think you’d- you could’ve called happy for your things. you didn’t have to come here.”

and peter’s heart _shatters_. “oh, tony.” he closes the distance between them, cups tony’s face in his hands. he murmurs, “tony,” and presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes when the older man’s breath shudders, when his shoulders shake. “i shouldn’t have left like that. i’m so sorry. i should’ve- i should’ve been an adult and stayed to talk it out with you. i’m sorry.”

“we can announce it to the world. anything you want,” tony whispers, and the moisture that wells when his eyes squeeze shut makes peter want to cry, too. “i love you, peter, i do. please don’t leave.”

it hurts, hearing tony beg again, knowing that he really thought peter had given up on him. “i just want to be with you,” he whispers. “any way you want. i just thought- i thought it meant you were ashamed of me because mj said something and- it was stupid. i’m sorry.”

“i hate that girl,” tony mumbles.

peter laughs, tears falling, then wrinkles his nose, nudging it playfully against tony’s. “you kind of stink.”

“sorry.”

sniffling, peter shakes his head. “’s’ okay,” he says. “c’mon. we can shower together.”


	23. same difference (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _same difference: used to express the speaker's belief that two or more things are essentially the same, in spite of apparent differences._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a continuation of chapter 5

Tony is out, and Peter is  _ bored _ . He’s lonely and missing the one person he has contact with (no one ever comes to see Peter, and the people who come to see Tony are always sequestered on a floor far away from Peter; he hasn’t even seen  _ Pepper _ about, not once, though he knows she must have come), and he is  _ just so bored _ , so he makes his way down to the lab floor, hoping to find something that he can help Tony with or just something to tinker with while he waits.

He  _ tries _ , anyway.

The elevator doors refuse to open, FRIDAY denying him with a repentant,  _ “I’m sorry, Peter, but Mister Stark would like you to remain on this floor _ .”

Peter tilts his head, a confused puppy. “I just want to go down to the lab.”

_ “I apologize again, Peter, but I am not authorized to allow you entry to any floor below the penthouse.” _

_ Rapunzel, _ his mind whispers to him, flash memories of a half-forgotten fairy tale drifting.  _ Locked away in a tower, hidden from the world, the lone and lonely prisoner of a mad captor. _

_ No, _ Peter argues back.  _ No. Tony is a good man. He only wants to keep me safe. _

The voice in the back of his head remains silent, though Peter feels from it the vaguest sense of disappointment, of  _ anger _ .

_ He only wants to keep me safe, _ he tells himself once more.  _ My memory is impaired right now, he said; he just doesn’t want to chance exposing me to something that could hurt my progress. _

(He repeats the excuse to himself for the rest of the night, until Tony slips into bed next to him, arms strong, hands insistent as they pull Peter close. He repeats it after Tony’s breathing slows, as his own calms.

He repeats it even as the Other Voice thinks of ways to bypass FRIDAY’s lockdown protocols.  _ Even Rapunzel wanted to break free of her chains. _ )

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream about Starker on my guilty pleasure tumblr side blog, starkerotic.


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